


Out Where the West Begins

by sithwitch13



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithwitch13/pseuds/sithwitch13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes they say things without thinking.  Takes place between "Nights in Ballygran" and "Family Limitation."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out Where the West Begins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [viceindustrious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceindustrious/gifts).



> The title is taken from the Arthur Chapman poem of the same name, which was set to music in 1920. The words seem like kind of what their friendship and events aren't, and somehow fitting: "Out where the skies are a trifle bluer,/Out where the friendship's a little truer,/That's where the West begins".
> 
> Thanks to my gracious beta reader.

“’ey, Jimmy.”

 

That was always how it started. There was that one certain way that he said it, that one way that said _I’m going to start talking and I haven’t been thinking too clearly_ , that Jimmy had learned to loathe. It was clear as police sirens. The only real question was, would it be some stupid conversation that they would regret having later or a stupid idea that they would regret acting on later?

 

Jimmy pretended that he hadn’t heard.

 

“’ey, Jimmy. We should go dancin’ sometime.”

 

It was so out of left field that he had to stop ignoring Al. “What, you and me?”

 

Al rolled his eyes, snorted, and muttered something in Italian that Jimmy didn’t get. “Me an’ Mae, you an’…” As he trailed off, Jimmy’s brief amusement faded. He could see Al doing the math. Angie was back in Atlantic City. Pearl wasn’t cold in her grave yet, unable to live with the thought of her pretty face slashed almost in half. Yeah, the dark mood Jimmy had been mostly in and sometimes out of since then was back now.

 

“Guy like you, you’ll find someone,” Al finished blithely. “You can’t find someone here, you got somethin’ wrong with you.”

 

As if on cue, a couple of the girls eased in nearby, lounging like they meant to be there, with the deliberateness of most of the cathouse girls. Al tracked one of them—what was her name, Julia—until she sat. Jimmy did a once-over for the wrong-looking sort of guy out of habit, but didn’t stare longer. “I’m not really looking.”

 

“Ah, come on. It’s not like the Germans shot your balls shot off or nothin’.”

 

Jimmy’s knuckles were suddenly very white, and something in his face must have changed, because Al very carefully put up two placating hands like… like Jimmy was some kind of wild animal or something. It wasn’t a _good_ feeling, but there was something satisfying in watching Al drop the swagger.

 

“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” he said, defensive like he’d been insulted instead of maybe a little scared by Jimmy’s sudden shift from _annoyed but tolerant_ to _two seconds from dangerous_. “You don’t wanna go, you don’t have to. I just thought it could be somethin’, y’know, to take your mind offa things.”

 

Jimmy relaxed, and felt a little ashamed. It was like aiming a kick at a dog. A big, unpredictable dog, but Al was mostly nice to him. He just never bothered thinking about these things. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah, I know.” He took a quick glance around, made sure, no one was watching—not the girls, who would put on a big and probably irritatingly fake show of sympathy, and not the men who could have been Torrio’s rivals come to check for weaknesses—and leaned in, tapping briefly at one leg. “Besides, you know—“

 

Al’s face lit up with _oh shit I forgot_ understanding. “Oh yeah. Yeah, with—“ He dropped his voice, not looking at Jimmy, but likewise leaning in. They could have been talking some other business. “I didn’t even think of the leg.”

 

“I’m not much of a dancer any more.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, forget I said anything.” He waved it off and went back to the bar, turning his back.

 

Jimmy felt that guilty, ugly, dog-kicking feeling again. He looked down at the scratched wood of the table for a minute. “Hey, Al.”

“What.”

“How about you and Mae go dancing? I’ll watch your kid for you. Little boy, right? I got a little boy back in Jersey, he—“

“Nah.” Al didn’t turn around, but he answered just a little too quickly, and Jimmy stopped talking, stung.

 

“What, you don’t trust me around kids?” It came out angry, when all he’d meant to do was ask.

“Huh? No, nothin’ like that. You’re a good guy.” Al turned back, shrugging. “My ma’s stayin’ with us for a while, so you don’t gotta bother yourself with it, that’s all.” His usual screw-you smile was back on his face, and Jimmy couldn’t be sure his paranoia hadn’t put a momentary look of worry there, just as Al was turning.

 

Jesus. Angela barely seemed to trust him with his own son back home, and now this here? “Gimme a drink,” he grumbled.

 

“What, now?”

“Yeah, now.”

Al took a quick look around and handed Jimmy a bottle and a clean glass. Jimmy didn’t even glance at the label before pouring himself some and knocking it back.

 

Al watched him do it, not smiling now. “It ain’t ‘cause of… y’know, what we do or nothin’. I trust _me_ around the kid, I’d trust you, too.”

 

Jimmy grunted.

 

Al went back to… whatever he was doing, Jimmy couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to him. Not now. He stared at the glass, watching the way the light caught it. He poured himself a little more of whatever Torrio had had shipped in this week—rum? It had tasted kind of like rum. The light in the cathouse was already a cold gray from outside, and the smoke in here dimmed it further.

 

He hated the light here.

 

“’ey, Jimmy.”

“What.”

 

“Where you been eatin’ lately?”

 

He shrugged and downed the rum, grimacing. Whoever Torrio was using wasn’t doing so great at their job, and he wondered if he’d remember to tell him that later. “Around.”

 

“Maybe you could come to dinner sometime. You know. Ma’s always cookin’, an’… hell, even I can’t finish it all. An’ it don’t always agree with Mae. So we got plenty around. Wouldn’t be a big deal or nothin’.”

 

Jimmy looked up, raised an eyebrow. Al wasn’t looking at him. He was wiping down the bar with deliberate nonchalance. “Your family’d be okay with it?”

 

“They’ll be okay if I tell ‘em to,” he said, miffed. “Look, you don’t got to worry yourself about nothin’ but showin’ up. I got this, okay? You think I don’t?”

 

“I believe you,” Jimmy said, somewhere between bewildered and annoyed. “I just don’t want to bother ‘em, that’s all.”

 

“Yeah, you won’t,” Al grumbled. “Dinner tonight.”

 

Jimmy leaned back in his chair for a moment, staring at the glass and bottle before picking them up and standing. His leg protested creakily, as it always did, high up and achy.

 

“Okay,” he said. “Dinner tonight.” After an awkward moment, he added, “Thanks.”

 

“It’s nothin’,” Al said. But he was kind of happy. You could tell.

 

“’course not,” said Jimmy. And he was kind of glad about it, too.

 


End file.
